


out of reach

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Delusions, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Kidnap Dads, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Post-Sirion, Third Kinslaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24210106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Makalaurë found the twins, he said. So why is still he so upset?
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 25
Kudos: 78





	out of reach

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this bc we were talking about kidnap dads on discord and i can't help but turn everything into angst :)

He's tired, weary to the bone. His hands are shaking. No. His hand is shaking. The sword attached to what used to be his right wrist is perfectly still. But he looks down and sees in blurry half-vision a curled fist, stiff and brittle. Like it might break if he moved it. He'd better not, just in case.

"Maedhros," someone says. The voice is musical, but low and rough. Like he'd sung himself hoarse. Like Makalaurë when he practiced too long. But Makalaurë wouldn't call him by that name. Would he?

He doesn't move. Doesn't turn. Stares down at his hands—hand? Afraid the other one might disappear if he looks away. Afraid the sword-fist-emptiness will coalesce into something more terrible if he blinks.

"Maedhros," the voice says again, sharper this time, cutting through the fog in his mind, just for a moment. He jerks his head up and sees: it _is_ Makalaurë. Tired-eyed. Haunted. Bloodstained. Ashy. And yet he glows, still. It's the glow that makes him shiver, makes him check his hands again. They're both there, this time. He should feel relieved, but he isn't.

"You should...get some rest. You've sung too much." His voice is a rasp. He doesn't sound like himself. Had he been singing, too? Maybe, if Findekáno had been there. But then why was there blood everywhere? Had they been hunting with Tyelkormo?

"You need rest, too." Makalaurë touches him lightly on the shoulder. His hand comes away stained with even more blood. "And I'll need to Sing a little more today. I..."

He smiles, and is surprised at how difficult it is. His lips feel like they've been stitched together, then unstitched. He hopes his smile puts his little brother at ease.

"Maedhros, I found something." Makalaurë doesn't meet his eyes. He looks more unsettled after the smile. "I found...I found the twins."

"Oh." Had they been missing? They're so young. So young. Why had Tyelkormo let them come along on the hunt? They're children. "Good. We should get them home to their mother."

Makalaurë stares at him. Something flickers in his eyes, those gleaming eyes. "...We can't do that, Maedhros."

Anger bubbles up inside him. Why is Makalaurë _calling_ him that? It's not his name. And of course they can. He's not sure where Tyelkormo's led them, but it can't be too far from home. Not if the twins had already come this far.

"I will send you back with them," he warns. " _You_ can tell her why they're out here." Have him make the excuses, this time.

"I..." Makalaurë breathes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Why does he look so _old_? He didn't use to look like this. "Here. Come with me. It might be easier to show you."

He grits his teeth but lets Makalaurë lead him deeper into the forest. There's a camp here, full of faces half-familiar, half-foreign. He stares as he passes them by, wondering why Tyelkormo brought so many people along on this hunt. And where Curvo was. And Moryo. And Tyelko himself.

There's crying. He tenses, then relaxes. Well. He knows how to deal with crying, at least. The twins are probably upset that they've been caught.

"In here," Makalaurë says, ducking into a tent. Maybe that's where their other brothers are, dealing with their littlest siblings.

But no. The tent is empty except for a healer, softly Singing away a scrape on a little child's knee. He must have fallen, or something. Pityo was always rushing into things. Telvo was always hanging back just a little too long.

It's dark. Which is why he doesn't notice it at first—the darkness absorbs all the color in this place. He aches as he bends down, kneeling next to the crying boy. The other one, the one with the scraped knee, is silent. Scared.

"I'm not going to yell at you," he says softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Makalaurë sigh, relief writ plain on his face. "It's alright. You're not in trouble."

The child trembles. Doesn't say anything. He's still scared. Terrified.

He frowns. Maybe it's because he's covered in blood. Gently, he takes the boy's hand. "You know what we have to do now, don't you?"

The child yanks his hand away. His eyes flash from familiar green to dark brown, and now he lets out a sob, joining his brother's chorus.

He stares. This isn't. This isn't what Telvo looks like, he realizes. His eyes have adjusted to the light, now, and he can see. The darkness wasn't hiding the twins' red hair. Their hair was _brown_.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Who is this healer? She looks Telerin, almost, but she's wearing their family's insignia. And what material is this tent made out of? He doesn't recognize it; it's certainly not anything found in Aman. And Makalaurë—

"Where's Tyelko?" he demands, keeping his voice carefully soft. He doesn't want to upset the children, but he's afraid now, too. "And Moryo and Curvo? Why aren't they here?"

Makalaurë just looks at him, mouth hanging open slightly. "Maedhros... They're—they're gone"

"But," he says, struggling to understand, "Ambarussa wanted to come along for the hunt? They're too little for that but Tyelko can't say no—"

"Maedhros," Makalaurë interrupts, soft. The children have stopped crying; the healer has stopped singing. Everyone's staring at him. He feels hot, beneath his bloody armor. Why is he wearing armor? "They're dead, Maedhros. All of them. We—we're the only ones left."

No. _No._ "No," he rasps, " _no_!" Dead, gone, killed, slain— _all_ of them, all five? All his baby brothers save Kano? But then who are _they_?

He must have said it aloud. Makalaurë flinches. "Elwing's sons," he murmurs. "I...I told you I found them."

 _Elwing._ At the name, he retches; memory floods back to him, indistinct and full of smoke. She stands, jewel at her throat, and smiles without mirth. She steps back. Falls. Out of reach. Like Tyelko and Moryo and Curvo and Pityo and Telvo. Gone. Dead. _His fault._

Wrong color, wrong color. He looks to the little boys staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Brown eyes. Brown hair. They don't shine, not like Makalaurë, not like him. They're not Ambarussa.

But he remembers Ambarussa, both of them—fighting by his side, slipping in blood but catching each other before they could fall. They were there, too. "But the twins—" _our_ twins, not these imposters, he wants to scream—"they're—"

Makalaurë is grim. He shakes his head. Out of reach, out of reach. Both of them.

He is dizzy. He collapses next to the little boys, his whole body shaking. The sword is still attached to the end of his arm. His hand, singular, trembles. He can barely see. Everything is blurry. His memories most of all.

Makalaurë reaches for him, but he can't reach back. He's gone, too. He's lost in some fog, the fog he's been stumbling through ever since Findekáno—ever since Findekáno _d_ —

He's here, physically. He hears the twins crying again, hears Makalaurë join the healer's Song, hears the thumping of his traitor-heart.

He's here. But his mind, his soul, his fëa—that's out of reach just as much as their dead brothers. Makalaurë found these children, yes, but he lost his brothers.

Really, he lost Maedhros long ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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